Sanctus

Chapter 123

Gabriel came round gradually.

At first his eyes refused to open and he lay where he’d fallen, breathing in air that smelt of explosive and scorched wood — and something else. It was a smell he’d last encountered in the Sudan after guerrilla forces ambushed one of their aide trucks. When Gabriel went to inspect the site with government troops the same smell had hung in the air like a greasy cloud. It was only when he saw the blackened body of the driver fused to the steering wheel that he’d realized what it was. His eyes flew open as he made the connection and remembered what had happened.

He looked around. Saw he was lying on the floor against the wall of the warehouse, his mother slumped on top of him. He slapped her face a couple of times. Pressed nervous fingers against the side of her neck and felt her pulse. It was strong and regular.

He grabbed her shoulders and gently rolled her off him and on to her side, his head pounding as he shifted position and put her in the recovery position. He listened through the painful pulse for sounds of movement elsewhere in the building. Heard nothing.

His gun lay on the concrete floor where it had been knocked from his hand. He scooped it up and pulled the slide back, checking the gun was undamaged and the action still smooth, then he slipped from behind the crates. He did not look towards the office. He didn’t want to see what he knew was there, not until the area was clear or he was sure the bastard who’d done it was good and dead.

He ducked into the tunnel between the rows of crates, and made his way quickly towards the front of the warehouse, keeping low all the way. He had no idea how long he’d been out, which was a problem. When the firing started, the Inspector had been calling for backup. Airport security also patrolled the perimeter every twenty minutes. If he got trapped in a security clamp-down of any sort he’d be put out of circulation and that just played into the hands of the Citadel. He reached up to the back of his head and felt a lump swelling where his head had struck the wall. The hair around it was wet with blood from a deep, swollen tear on his scalp. He glanced at the blood on his fingers. It was bright red, not dark, not too sticky. It hadn’t started to coagulate. He can’t have been unconscious for too long, which was good, but he still had to move fast.

He reached the end of the tunnel and squatted low to the floor. Holding his gun out in front, low and close to his body, he glanced round the edge of the crate in a rapid darting movement, out and in, his gun following the direction of his eyes, ready to fire if he had to. A man lay sprawled between the open hangar door and the first stack of crates. His eyes were fixed open. The back of his head was missing. Gabriel moved towards then past him, his eyes scanning for movement as he headed for the open door of the warehouse.

Outside, all was quiet — no police cars, no airport security. A white van was parked by one of the neighbouring warehouses. He was pretty sure it was the same one he’d followed earlier. There had been three men inside it then. So far he’d found only one. He grabbed the edge of the door and rolled it shut, dropping a thick metal latch across to keep it shut. With his back now covered he returned to the dead man.

The bullet that killed him had entered at the intersection of a Tau drawn on his forehead in blood. There was no blood around the wound. Death must have been instant. Pity. He blew out a long stream of air to disperse the emotion tightening his throat and pricking the backs of his eyes. He needed to stay focused. Two men were still unaccounted for and cops couldn’t be far away.

Gabriel dropped down and searched the dead man, his hand hissing over the dry surface of his red windcheater, avoiding the wet pulpy sections round his neck where the blood had soaked through. At least he’d suffered before he died.

He found a set of van keys and a blank plastic rectangle the size of a credit card. He remembered the van waiting at the end of the alley by the old town wall. The driver had swiped a card then. He slipped it into his pocket with the van keys and picked up the dead man’s gun. A silencer lay nearby, next to a canvas bag. Gabriel crabbed over, picked up the tube of black metal and used it to lift the cover flap of the bag.

Inside were four full 9mm clips, two grenades and a plastic box containing preloaded hypodermic syrettes, the same type soldiers carried into combat. There were also a couple of spare ampoules of clear liquid. He glanced at the label. It was Ketamine — a heavy-duty tranquilizer usually used by vets to knock out horses. He dropped the Glock into the bag along with the silencer, swung it over his shoulder and slipped between the stacked crates heading towards the office at the back of the warehouse.

As he approached the end of the passageway he smelt the burnt-air bitterness of explosives and saw the shredded outer wall of the office. On the floor in front of it a sooty circle showed the point of the blast. There was another on the underside of the steel roof above it. The reinforced concrete of the floor had obviously reflected most of the explosion upwards, undoubtedly saving his life. He reached the end of the passageway and took a deep breath to dampen his swelling anger, then moved forward.

What was left of Oscar lay by the office door.

Gabriel had seen battlefield casualties before, flesh torn and shredded by the teeth and claws of modern weaponry — but never someone he was related to. He moved towards his grandfather, choking down his grief, trying not to look at the red mess of his body, focusing instead on the face that had somehow remained remarkably untouched. Oscar was face down, his head tilted to one side, his eyes closed as if resting. He looked almost serene. A bright splash of blood stood out against the dark mahogany of his cheek. Gabriel reached down and gently wiped it away with his thumb. The skin was still warm. He leaned down and kissed him on the forehead, then stood and looked around for something to cover him with before his emotions dragged him further down. He still hadn’t secured the area, or found Liv. He dragged a tarpaulin from one of the crates, carefully draped it over Oscar’s body, then ducked through the door and into the office.